


Zoro's Dad

by mollydewinter



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Voyeurism, but also take it seriously, this is the dumbest thing i've written, this is what listening to stacy's mom for three hours on repeat does to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollydewinter/pseuds/mollydewinter
Summary: Sanji knows this is wrong. He feels bad. Yet, he's unable to stop himself. Is it really his fault? Is he the one to blame for his boyfriend's Dad being so fucking hot?
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk, Dracule Mihawk/Vinsmoke Sanji, Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Zoro's Dad

**Author's Note:**

> this is absolutely the dumbest thing i've ever written but like please take it seriously  
> Today I was listening to Stacy's Mom for three hours on repeat and this is what it did to my brain. I had to immediately stop everything I was doing to write this thing and I proudly present it to you. Please be nice and understand that even I am confused and honestly shocked at my own capabilities. 
> 
> If you like this (?) check out my other works and hmu on twitter @_mollydewinter_ :D

Zoro’s Dad

The only solution to a hot and dry summer day is to take a dip in the pool. As per usual, the gang has gathered at Zoro’s. They’re splashing around, drinking, and listening to music, trying their best to fight the heat and their boredom. 

Sanji is sitting on the edge of the pool, feet idly splashing in the water as he takes a drag from his cigarette. Finally, a break. For the past hour, he’s been stationed at the outdoor kitchen, making crepes at lightning speed for his friends. Though, to be honest, he just wanted Luffy to shut up as quickly as possible. Sanji spots him near the rose bushes, dual-wielding crepes as he’s running away from Ace and his water pistol. Nami is playing cards with Chopper and Usopp. Sabo is sitting on a lounging chair next to Robin, having one of those conversations no one else can follow. A little farther than the rest of them, Perona and Reiju are laying side by side, taking in the sun. 

“Hey.”

Sanji looks down. Zoro swims towards him and places his strong arms on the rim of the pool. Slowly, he pulls himself out, sitting down next to Sanji. He removes the cigarette from the blond’s lips only for a second, just enough to give him a small kiss.

“Having fun?”

“Yeah,” Sanji sighs. He takes another drag, blowing out the smoke on Zoro’s face. 

Zoro opens his mouth to say something, but the words are never heard. Their conversation is cut short by the unmistakable roar of a motorcycle and the screeching of its tires as it comes to an abrupt halt in front of the garage. The dust around it rises in puffs, setting over the grass. Sanji watches as the rider removes his helmet. His breath hitches in his throat when his face is revealed.

Zoro’s demigod of a Dad.

Mihawk runs a strong, leather-clad hand through his jet-black hair, slicking it back. His eyes flutter open underneath his thick, dark lashes, more golden than the sun that’s setting overhead. He unzips his leather jacket and Sanji catches a hint of alabaster skin and hard muscle peeking from within. Mihawk gets off the bike and tugs his gloves off with his teeth.

“You’re back early,” Zoro notes. Mihawk offers nothing back.

“Didn’t tell me you were having a party.”

Sanji winces a little. God, that voice. It’s so deep, velvety-smooth and rich. It’s always calm and collected to the point of being cold, but it always commands silence over everyone else.

“Do you mind?”

Zoro receives a little sigh as a response. “Is Red here?”

“He’s inside.”

Mihawk nods. He takes a look around his backyard, possibly counting heads, and begins walking away. Sanji knows he’s _staring_ but he can’t help it when the other man looks so sinfully _good_. His legs are strong and long, perfectly sculpted and those unbelievably tight leather pants only make his ass look plumper than it already is.

“Hey.”

Sanji jumps. His cheeks heat up. He looks up to find Mihawk standing by the table, eyeing the crepes. 

“Who made these?”

Sanji knows the question is directed at him but he can’t find the strength to respond. Any words about to leave die in his mouth when Mihawk takes a bite and wipes off the excess chocolate using his thumb, then sucks it between his plump lips.

 _Fuck_.

“I-I did, sir,” Sanji mumbles back.

That sharp, brilliant gaze is fixed on him and Sanji has never felt more naked and turned on. He swallows thickly, staring back at the other man with wide, unblinking eyes.

“They’re pretty good.”

Before Sanji can muster the courage to say ‘thank you’ back, Mihawk is gone, walking into his house, leaving him to stare helplessly. 

...

  
That night, Sanji couldn’t sleep. He stirs in bed, desperately trying to relax. His own brain has turned against him, his thoughts are nothing but pure _filth_. He closes his eyes, hoping that this time will be different, but the vision remains the same, waiting for him underneath his closed lids. The flawless skin, the jet-black hair, those absolutely stunning eyes, the rare smiles that are always so cheeky, so full of certainty that no one does it like him… Then it gets dangerous, takes the liberty of imagining that godly body shiver with pleasure, his own name muttered in that husky voice. Sanji blinks awake, staring at Zoro’s sleeping face that’s inches away from his own. 

This has to be wrong. It _is_ wrong on so many levels. First things first, Mihawk is 40 years old. That’s not as old as Sanji’s own parents but still pretty old. And while Mihawk is probably the hottest 40-year-old out there, Sanji is just shy of 18. Second, he’s married. He’s been married since forever and his husband worships the ground he walks upon, the very air he breathes. Shanks simply adores his glacier of a spouse and although he’s the most laid-back guy out there, the tales of his jealousy are legendary. Last but definitely not least, Mihawk is his boyfriend’s Dad. Sanji doesn’t even know how to call this phenomenon. He considers looking it up but he’s too ashamed to even type out the words. Whatever it is, it’s wrong. Zoro would be hurt and that’s the last thing Sanji wants.

Because the first thing he wants is Mihawk on his knees.

He sits up straight as if on fire. He’s panting, slick with cold sweat. Zoro is sleeping soundly next to him, unbothered and oblivious to Sanji’s torment. Slowly, Sanji gets off the bed and makes his way to the door, making sure not to step over Usopp. Once outside, he presses his back against the door and takes in a deep breath, desperately trying to clear his head. He needs a smoke. 

The night is warm and quiet, the neighborhood is perfectly still. The air outside smells like jasmine and the soft grass tickles his bare feet. Sanji sits down on the patio and lights a cigarette. He watches as the plumes of smoke drift up into the night. Smoking helps somewhat. He’s less sweaty and his legs aren’t shaking as much. It can’t be that uncommon, right? Surely, there are others going through what he is. Hell, even Mihawk’s own father-in-law is ridiculously attractive. At 75, Rayleigh is more charming than ever, which only makes Sanji wonder how he was in his youth.

Great. As if lusting over his Dad wasn’t enough already, Sanji had to bring his boyfriend’s _Grandpa_ into the equation. 

By the time he feels ready to return to bed, he’s gone through half a pack. He slowly drags his feet back into the house. In order to distract himself, he thinks of the most mundane shit, anything from reciting the grocery list to thinking about Luffy’s most recent shenanigans. It’s somewhat successful, the mantra effectively blocks out any other thought.

“ _God, yes!_ ”

He freezes on the spot. Silence. Was that his imagination? Is he really so far gone? As he’s about to start questioning his sanity, he hears it again. The telltale sound of a bed squeaking. Sanji brings his gaze to the set of double doors right next to him. It’s the master bedroom. As the realization hits, a shiver runs down his spine. He holds his breath, hoping to hear the sound again. Nothing comes.

In the midst of his despair, Sanji sinks to his knees and scoots close to the keyhole. He’s certain that his heartbeat can be heard through walls. Anyone could walk in on him at any point and that’s partly what exhilarates him so. His palms are flat against the wood, leaving behind sweaty imprints. He presses his eyes into the hole, hissing softly at what he sees.

The light is barely sufficient but with some effort, he can make out the four-poster bed and the two bodies on it. One is laying down while the other is on top, bouncing eagerly with a perfectly arched back. A hand reaches up, finding purchase on his waist, guiding his moves. Sanji presses his entire face against the wood, blood boiling with the need to see _more_. The sounds are too low as if to tease him. Gasps and little moans, filthy words coming out in mumbles. It won’t do, none of this is going to satisfy him.

He hears a groan, a deep voice rumbling inside one man’s chest. “On your knees, angeleyes.”

There’s a little sound of protest as they move to change positions. Pale hands seek support on the headboard. Sanji can feel his face heat up to the tips of his ears when he sees Shanks dig his hand in the roots of Mihawk’s hair and pull him back, burying his teeth in the alabaster throat. The whole bed shakes in tempo with their fucking and Sanji is just left there, shaking like a leaf, harder than he’s ever been before.

Well. That didn’t help.

...

He’s back the next day and the day after that and all those that follow. Most of the time, there’s no particular reason. After all, both his boyfriend and his best friend live there, so he has more or less free pass to drop by whenever he likes. His presence is hardly ever noted, usually acknowledged by a nod or a simple question about him or his grandfather. Shanks is the one that engages the most. He even hangs out with the kids, playing cards and showing them ways of sneaking alcohol into movie theaters. On the other hand, Mihawk lurks about the house unnoticed and unwilling to socialize, usually accompanied by a glass of red wine. He’s there most of the time Sanji comes over, busying himself with his garden. From what Sanji has gathered, he has some sort of government job that he couldn’t care less about.

Luffy falls back on the grass, smiling. “Thanks, man,” he laughs. “I have no idea how to use this thing and Hawkeyes is going to kill me if I don’t mow the lawn.

_What a fucking privilege._

“It’s alright,” Sanji offers casually. He circles the lawnmower, trying to remember how to operate it. It’s not that hard, Luffy is just bored out of his mind for it.

“I’ll go find something to eat,” he says and is gone before Sanji can even blink.

The blond looks up. A vast expanse of emerald grass stretches before his eyes. Thankfully, it’s already perfectly-trimmed. This shouldn’t take long. He turns the lawnmower on and gets to work, pushing it up and down across the yard, all the while the scorching, midday sun burns down on his back. He’s sweating, panting like he’s just done running up a hill. He stops only for a moment to catch his breath. He swipes a hand across his forehead, collecting all the sweat that’s pouring freely underneath his fringe. Even his eyebrows are sweaty.

“Vinsmoke.”

There’s that voice again, that deep, husky murmur that commands his body, that dictates the beat of his heart. He looks to the source, desperate to test its reality. Mihawk emerges from the pool, using his strong arms to lift his body out of the water. He stands on the rim, shining like a god under the sun. His body is the very definition of divinity, each muscle is sculpted with devastating precision. His skin is smooth, flawless, utterly unmarked. His wet lashes flutter open, revealing once again those breath-taking eyes of his. 

Sanji stands there like a fool, gawking at the other man. Mihawk reaches for a towel and throws it around his neck. He’s still looking at the young man but Sanji can only melt before the light of those eyes. His mind flies back to that night, as it so often does these days, the night he heard the demigod before him make love. He blushes, bright red and shameless and unable to do anything about it. His lips part, helplessly trying to make up any sound.

Mihawk takes a step forward and Sanji sees the absolutely sinful dip of his waist. Why? Why does God allow such things to happen to good people? Why is this father of two - three if you count the husband - so _fucking_ hot?

To make Sanji’s life even worse, Mihawk _smirks_. He smiles like he knows and he definitely does. It’s crooked and mocking, teasing but giving nothing away. Perhaps there’s nothing behind it in the first place, but Sanji’s obsessed mind is willing to make up enough stories to fill tomes. 

He’s fucked.

“You missed a spot.”

**Author's Note:**

> presented with no excuse or apology


End file.
